Ab Initio
by robinwritesallthethings
Summary: Jason meets someone who changes his perspective.
1. Chapter One

**Warnings: Language.**

* * *

"Jesus fucking Christ, are you serious, Hannah? You don't think I know that already? For fuck's sake!"

I glance at the table in the corner. The man sitting there is on his phone. Normally I would ask him to keep it down for the benefit of the other customers, but I'm just about to close up and he's the only one left.

He comes in every night. His name is Jason Crouse, and as far as I can tell, he's some sort of lawyer. He's almost always on his phone, swearing up a storm and being intensely angry about something. I've been tempted to tell him he should probably lay off the espresso several times, but I'm not sure he could take the joke. He barely even manages to say thank you when I take his order, despite the fact that I have it memorized and it's always perfect.

I don't say anything about that, of course. He's not the first ungrateful customer I've dealt with, and he's certainly not the worst.

Despite his demeanor, he's extraordinarily handsome. I imagine that his appearance lets him get away with a lot. He's tall and lean, but his exquisitely tailored suit reveals that he's clearly toned. He has short dark brown hair that's styled to look like it hasn't been. Usually that kind of thing annoys me, but he makes it work. His full beard is carefully trimmed and streaked with silver, and he has beautiful hazel eyes.

I realize that I've been staring when he throws his phone on the table in irritation. "Dammit!" he yells, running his hand over his beard; the other is clenched into a fist at his side. He scowls for a moment and then looks around. I keep my head down, returning to my task of dusting and stacking cups, giving no indication that I've heard his outburst. I have a good poker face; it's essential for my job.

Then he's at the counter, leaning against it and looking sideways at me. I lift my head and smile. "What can I get you, sir?" I inquire politely. My voice is kind and soft-spoken, perfectly pitched for customer service.

"Can I ask you a question?" I stack the last cup and move over to where he's standing; he turns to face me, his hips canted forward so they're pressed against the wood and marble. I wonder if he realizes how graceful he is. I quickly banish the thought. Even if I was interested, he's way out of my league.

I can't resist a little sarcasm. My job requires me to be pleasant, but I rarely get to actually have a conversation of substance with anyone, so I take my opportunities when I can get them. "That is a question, Mr. Crouse, but I don't mind another. Go ahead."

He hesitates. "Do we know each other?" he queries, looking me up and down. I smile at him indulgently. Is he for real? He raises his eyebrows expectantly and I chuckle. Of course he is.

"Mr. Crouse, you come in every day and you always order the same thing. A quad espresso with one pump of cinnamon syrup. Every time, you rather forcefully remind me that it's just one pump, even though I've never gotten it wrong. I suppose I can see why I'd remember and you wouldn't." He frowns at me and reaches up to rub his earlobe between his fingers, and I sigh. "You had a question?" I remind him. He nods, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"Ever served on a jury?" His voice is short and clipped. I imagine he isn't used to people talking back to him.

"No, I've never had that pleasure," I answer. "Why?"

His tongue sweeps over his lower lip; it's really too bad that he's cuter with his mouth shut. "I'm trying a big case tomorrow and I thought it might be useful to have the opinion of, you know, the average person." He gives me a devastatingly gorgeous smile, and for a moment, it works; I'm distracted by his stunning dimples. No grown man should have dimples like that. But the effect is quickly diminished by his comment about being average.

"Are juries usually composed of average people, Mr. Crouse?" I reply coyly, leaning my own hips against the counter, imitating his stance and keeping my arms crossed over my chest.

Now he's confident. "Jason," he informs me; I nod. "And yes, juries are usually composed of average people, so the legal shit often has trouble getting through. That's why I'm curious."

"And what are you curious about, Jason?" I gaze up into his eyes; I try to imagine what they would look like if he were trying to be warm or comforting. I doubt either of those emotions come up much for him.

"What would make a corporation look sympathetic to you?" he asks. I can tell from the look on his face that he thinks I'm going to need him to clarify the question. He doesn't just think I'm average. He thinks I'm a dunce.

Still, I answer his question, partially because I'm hoping to prove his assumption wrong; I try not to be petty, but it just works sometimes. "I suppose that would depend on the corporation and what they're being accused of. I'd be more sympathetic to a corporation that donates to charity and publicly takes stances I find favorable on certain issues. It makes them seem human. And it would help if the accusation against them is something ridiculously obvious, like someone suing a cigarette company because they got cancer. No matter what you think of smoking, you can't deny that there's a warning right on the box. That tends to make the accuser look stupid." I tilt my head and tap my foot as I wait for his response.

Jason smirks at me before his tongue darts out and swipes over his lips again. "That's a very astute answer," he remarks. His eyes are sparkling devilishly; he's making fun of me.

"I suppose it is, for an average coffee girl," I retort quietly. For a moment, he actually has the decency to seem taken aback. "Maybe I'm not a good choice as a test case, Mr. Crouse," I add, gritting my teeth together behind a close-lipped smile. "Can I get you anything else before I close up?"

He pulls his sleeve back to glance at his watch; his eyes flick back to my face. "Wait," he starts. "Are you actually mad at me?" He seems legitimately surprised, but he can't possibly be that oblivious, can he? He's a goddamn lawyer. Aren't they supposed to be good at reading people?

I was going to tell him that I'm not upset just so he would leave, but now I really am upset. It's against my better judgment, but he opened the damn door, so he can't blame me for walking through it.

I sigh at him and roll my eyes up to the ceiling. "Shouldn't I be?" I fire back testily. "People like you come in here all the time. You bark your coffee order at me, reminding me that I better get it right. You know that it's literally my job to get it right, don't you? Besides sucking up to assholes, that's all I do every day. Make coffee. Do I make mistakes? Sure I do. I'm a human being. But 99% of the time, I get it right, and I'd like to see how well you would do if I stuck you behind this counter for a day and made you do what I do. You'd break in a second, Jason; I guarantee it." My voice is intensely bitter, and suddenly I feel guilty. I shouldn't be dumping all of this on him. He may be a dick, but the way I feel isn't entirely his fault.

Then he flashes that smirk at me again and laughs. "Got some serious baggage there, huh, sweetheart?"

"Fuck right off, Jason!" I snap at him; I'm shocked when he actually takes a step backwards, holding up his hands like he's surrendering. "Yes, I have baggage. Everybody does. Excuse me for wishing that someone gave a shit about me, even if it was as simple as a thank you for making their coffee. Not all of us can afford fancy dinners and cleaning ladies and $3,000 suits. Some of us have to take care of everything for ourselves. And don't call me sweetheart. Sweetheart is what men call women when they don't respect them and can't remember their damn name."

Jason straightens up, still smirking, his hands in his pockets. He licks his lips again, walking back up to the counter. Finally, he says, "This is a $4,000 suit…" He makes a show of looking at my nametag and then reaches out to gently flick it with his fingers. "Robin. But if it means that much to you…" He gives me another million megawatt smile. "Thank you for making my coffee." He's completely smug, and suddenly I'm blinking back tears. I've gotten good at not crying when I'm upset in the past few years, but he's testing me.

"God, you're an ass," I tell him, but my voice no longer has any bite. "What you say doesn't matter if you don't mean it. You don't care about people at all." I turn away, fumbling mindlessly with the random items on the counter behind me. "Do you want anything before you go?" I force myself to ask. "I have to close up." When he doesn't reply, I grit my teeth and say what I know I need to say. Even now, it might not be enough. He could easily return tomorrow and complain about me; I could lose my job. So I cover my ass.

"I apologize for what I said, Mr. Crouse. I've had a long day, and not a particularly good one. I shouldn't have taken that out on you." I'm only half-sincere; I don't know if he can tell. Part of me does really want to apologize; I know I'm being unfair. The other part wants something to get through to him, as if that's even possible.

I don't know why I care so much. It's not like he means anything to me. I stand very still, waiting for him to acknowledge what I said.

"No, I don't want anything," he finally answers. His voice sounds odd. "Sweet…" He stops, and I can't help but turn and look at him now. Is he actually hesitating? Why? "Robin," he corrects himself carefully. His fingertips are resting against the counter, and he tilts his head to ask me to come to him. "Please?"

I step closer. When I take a deep breath to calm myself, I breathe in the smell of his cologne. Usually I hate cologne on men too, but his is intoxicating. I find myself wondering if it's the cologne, or the combination of him and the cologne. I don't know which answer I would prefer. "Yes, Mr. Crouse?" I venture carefully, not wanting to say anything else I'll feel obligated to apologize for.

"Jason," he reminds me. I nod, but don't say anything; he seems to be thinking. The look in his eyes has changed. Now they're cautious, but there's something else that I can't place. Finally, he says, "You shouldn't ever apologize for telling the truth. Most people don't understand what the truth is worth."

My lips part as I look up at him curiously. I'm trying to think of something to say, but I'm drawing a complete blank.

Before I can collect my thoughts, he surprises me by reaching up, grasping my chin in his long fingers, and kissing me.

I gasp, which may be a mistake because my mouth opens further; he takes advantage and pulls my upper lip between his to deepen the kiss. Suddenly, I'm leaning over the counter toward him, and since it's the only chance I might have, I curl my fingers into the hair at the back of his neck; it's so soft.

I should be embarrassed by the noises I'm making, but he's such a good kisser that I couldn't care less. His mouth moves again, grazing over the skin between my nose and upper lip. Then his hand wanders from my chin to my cheek and he splays it over the side of my neck before his mouth slides down to my lower lip. He kisses it slowly, almost lazily, but there's a passionate urgency between each movement. He glides back up; I know that he can feel me trembling.

My brain is trying to process what's happening, but my instincts are in control, and they are wishing that I was pressed up against him with his arms around me. His mouth is warm and wet, and his beard is soft against my face, so much softer than I thought it would be. He pulls away for just a moment and I whimper in protest. His lips twitch up into a smile; I feel it against my mouth.

"I mean this," he whispers, panting.

I reply without thinking. "I believe you," I breathe.

It's not a lie, but I don't know why I believe him.

"Okay," he acknowledges. His mouth descends on mine again. We stay locked together for what feels like both eternity and barely a second at the same time.

Then his phone rings from across the room; the moment is gone. He smooths an errant strand of hair back over my ear and into the bun at the nape of my neck and then goes to answer his call.

For a second, I just stand there with my fingers resting on my lips. They're tingling. Then I look over at him. He's talking quietly enough this time that I can't hear what he's saying. He slips on his jacket and picks up his coffee cup, bringing it back to me at the counter. I'm still paralyzed; I can't even say thank you.

I feel like I would sell my soul just to kiss him one more time.

I glance down at the cup and then back up at him. I have literally no idea what to say.

He smiles at me. It's a real smile this time, but his eyes are confused. I want to ask him why he kissed me, but the question sticks in my throat.

"Thank you," he says carefully, his finger tracing the lip of the cup idly. "The coffee here is better than it is anywhere else. That's why I keep coming back." He pauses, gazing at my face. "I'll see you tomorrow, Robin," he murmurs. Then his phone is back at his ear and he's walking out onto the street like nothing ever happened.

I don't have time to think; I just run after him. "Jason!" I call his name and he turns to face me, lowering his phone and slipping it into his jacket pocket. I stand close to him in the chilly night air, looking up into his face, searching for something there to give me any clue as to what he's feeling. I don't find anything, so I make myself ask.

"Why did you kiss me?" I hate how desperate I sound, but I can still feel his kiss in my toes, and I'm not willing to let it go. He stares at me for a moment; I think he's measuring his options.

Then he pulls me close and kisses me again. I lean against him, putting my arms around his neck; his arms are tight around my waist. This kiss is softer and briefer, but just as mesmerizing.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he exhales in frustration. He brushes his nose over mine gently, then steps back, still holding my hand in his, tracing his fingers over my knuckles. "Jason," I repeat. "Why did you kiss me?" I try to convince myself that I don't really care. I just… need to know, otherwise I don't think I'll be able to sort myself out.

He presses his lips to my hand before dropping it. I fold my arms against the cold, and I'm sure that my eyes are begging him for an answer.

"I really have no idea," he finally says. Then he turns and starts walking away, and I'm left alone with my thoughts.


	2. Chapter Two

**Warnings: Language.**

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I stand behind the counter at work, stifling a yawn with the back of my hand. I barely slept at all last night because my head was filled with Jason Crouse.

In the light of a new day, I'm honestly embarrassed by every single thing that happened between us. Why did I have to get angry with him? Why couldn't I have just put on my good employee face and dealt with his asinine questions calmly? That's what I would have done with any other customer. People assume that I'm not very smart all the time because of my job; I just don't understand why I flew off the handle.

Was it because it happens so often and I never get to vent about it? Was it because we were alone? Was it because of my stupid secret fantasy that maybe a man like him could actually appreciate me for who I am, despite my lowly status as a coffee girl?

Against my will, my mind wanders to the end of the night and the kisses we shared. I don't want to admit it, but those were the best kisses I've ever experienced. The kind that are always stuck in the back of your mind because you're wondering how good the person is in bed.

I roll my eyes. Right. Me, go to bed with Jason Crouse. I shake my head to clear it. Whatever.

I straighten the cups, centering myself, and turn around. All of my resolve leaves my mind when I see that he's standing at the register.

My heart starts to beat faster as he raises one hand in a small wave and carefully says, "Hello, Robin. How are you today?"

I blink, taken aback for a moment. He's calmer than he was yesterday, that's for sure. He's certainly never said hello to me before.

I step towards him, my brow furrowing. "Hello, Mr. Crouse. I'm well, thank you. How are you?"

The corner of his mouth lifts in a wry smile. "Jason," he corrects me gently. I take a deep breath.

So we're still doing that, huh?

"Jason," I repeat. This time he gives me a real smile in return. "Do you want your usual today?" I ask.

He pauses. "I do always have the same thing, don't I?" He stares up at the menu on the board behind me. "Is there anything you'd recommend?"

I relax for a minute, thinking about when he was yelling on the phone. "For you?" I tease. "Decaf." I wink at him and he chuckles.

"I'm afraid that lack of caffeine could have serious side effects," he jokes back.

"It might." I smile. "Well, in that case, I like the green tea latte with almond milk. It's my favorite."

Jason nods. "That sounds adventurous. I'll try it, but regular milk for me, please."

"Sure." I tap his order into the register and look back up at him. "Anything else?"

He takes a breath and looks at me. "Do you… have a break soon?" he asks. I tilt my head curiously.

"Actually, I'm off in a few minutes," I finally confess. "Someone called in sick this morning, so I came in early. I have to leave before I hit overtime."

"Then add your coffee to my order, please. If you'd like to join me, that is." He stares down at the counter while I think about my answer.

I should say no. Sure, he's handsome and a great kisser, but there could never really be anything between us. He's being nice right now, but how long is that going to last? I can't fall into the trap.

But my mouth doesn't listen to my brain anymore, apparently, so when I open it, what comes out is, "I'd love to. Give me a few minutes, all right?"

He looks back up at me and smiles again. "Okay." He pays and then says, "I'll find a table for us, all right?"

"I'll bring the coffee," I respond, turning around to make the drinks. Since he can't see my face, I frown.

What am I doing?

About an hour later, Jason and I are each on our second coffee and tucked comfortably into a corner booth. He's been peppering me with questions about anything and everything, and I've asked him questions in return. It's all small talk stuff, nothing too big, but it's nice. I've relaxed a little, but I'm still not sure what he's doing, or why I'm playing along.

As much as I hate to admit it to myself, he's too good for me, and I know it. He's smarter, more well-off, more good-looking, and more cultured than I'll ever be, though I don't think I would ever say that to his face; my dignity wouldn't survive the hit. But deep down, I know it's true.

Plus, I'm not buying for a second that he's suddenly not an asshole after one beleaguered tirade from a coffee girl.

I fold my hands on the table in front of me and sigh. Jason looks at me curiously, leaning forward so he can brush my hair over my ear. "What's wrong?" he asks. For a moment, I just stare back at him. I wonder if he even realizes how handsome he is. His suit jacket is hanging off the back of the chair, and he's undone the top few buttons of his shirt; there are dark curls peeking up out of the pinstriped fabric. He's even loosened his tie. I bite my lip; thank goodness he doesn't know about my weakness for men with incredible chest hair.

Despite his attitude, he doesn't seem vain. I'm not sure it makes up for everything else, but it's something. "Robin, what's wrong?" he repeats. He actually reaches out to take my hand. He has beautiful hands. His fingers are long and just the tiniest bit rough, and he's so warm.

The touch is what breaks me. I can't help but remember the way his hand felt on my face last night. I shouldn't want him to touch me again, but dammit, I do.

So I let my thoughts slip out. "Why are you doing this?" My voice is soft, and I squeeze his hand in mine while I speak. "Being nice to me? Buying me coffee? Whatever happened yesterday, Jason, it's okay. You don't owe me your…" I take a deep breath and force the last word out. "…pity."

Jason frowns. "That's why you think I'm talking to you? Pity?"

"I can't think of any other reason," I admit. His brow furrows momentarily, and then he smiles and chuckles.

"It never occurred to you that I might actually like you?" he teases.

"Do you?" I counter. "Last night, when I asked you why you kissed me, you said you didn't know."

His eyes cloud over and he bites his own lip. "I still don't," he confesses, finishing his coffee and setting it aside. "But I'm not ruling anything out."

This is when I'm supposed to blush and feel flattered, right?

Instead, I'm just angry.

I push my empty mug away and stand up, heading toward the door. It's dark outside, and cold, but I don't care. I just keep walking as fast as I can.

I am walking away from Jason Crouse. I will say hello to him and serve him coffee, but I need to stop this before it goes any further.

I wrap my arms around myself to stave off the cold. Why didn't I bring a jacket today?

"Robin! Wait!" I roll my eyes and keep walking, ignoring the pang that echoes through my chest as I process the fact that he cares enough to come after me. I know he's going to catch up , but I may as well make him work for it.

Seconds later, he's grabbing my arm and turning me to face him. "Why did you leave?" he questions. He's confused and upset. As he waits for my answer, he runs his hand through his hair. Why does he have to make everything look so goddamn sexy?

"I can't do this, Jason!" I blurt out, tugging on my arm. "I can't sit there and listen to you dither about whether or not you like me when I already know what you think."

"You already know what I think?" he parrots back at me. "And what's that?" I shake my head and look at him plaintively.

"You said I was an idiot," I gasp. I meant to be angry, to throw it in his face, but instead I just sound like a pathetic, hurt little girl.

He has the gall to look genuinely puzzled. "When did I say that?"

Shit. I'm going to cry. Dammit. That's the last thing I want to do in front of him. Usually I'm pretty good at hiding how I'm feeling, but I've used up all my reserves today, apparently.

"Average," I whisper, my lower lip quivering. I tug on my arm again, but he still doesn't let me go. "You asked me for my opinion because I'm just a stupid, silly girl who works in a coffee shop. Don't deny it. You were surprised by my answer because you didn't think I could possibly have anything smart to say. Why would you care about someone like me? I don't know why you're insisting on talking to me and buying me coffee, but you need to stop." My voice is choked up now, and I tug one more time. "Please let me go."

"That's why you were angry?" He seems incredulous. "I thought you were upset that I didn't say thank you for making my coffee."

"For fuck's sake, Jason. You really are dense." I shiver as a gust of wind blows against my back.

"You're cold," he observes.

"I'm not," I lie, but I shiver as I say it, so I'm not very convincing.

"Here, take my jacket." He swings it over my shoulders and pulls the collar around my neck. He's standing close to me, and he's tall and warm and solid and he smells so good that it makes me want to literally die.

"I told you, I'm not cold," I protest weakly, shivering again. His hands are splayed over my cheeks and neck, and he's slowly tipping my head back.

"Yes, you are," he murmurs. "Let me fix that."

Then he's kissing me again, and I forget how to breathe. I forget how to think. I forget how to live without him under my skin.

I slip my arms through the sleeves of his jacket and put them around him, holding him tight. His kiss is rougher tonight, like he's trying to prove something. He engulfs my mouth with his, his tongue coiling around mine as he tastes me.

I actually moan against his lips, and it spurs him on. He kisses me deeply, with hunger and want and need and desire.

When his phone rings again just like it did last night, he groans in frustration. Instead of answering it, he reaches into his pants pocket and shuts it off.

"You shut your phone off for me," I pant. He nods, and then his lips are on my neck. He puts his thumb underneath my chin and tilts my head back, sealing his mouth over my skin and sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

I think about stopping him, but then I don't.

His beard scrapes against my skin as he makes his way down to the hollow of my throat, and I shiver again, this time for an entirely different reason. As he moves back to my mouth, I put my arms around his neck and sink my fingers into his hair, leaning up on my tiptoes and kissing him back eagerly.

He finally pulls away, his fingers tracing my jaw delicately. I cling to him as he presses his forehead against mine. "I don't pity you, Robin," he says, placing another gentle kiss on my lips. I listen to his words and I memorize the way his body feels. His belly is slightly soft against mine, and it's making my knees weak.

Whatever else he is, he's a real man under all that swagger. His body, his mind, his soul. There's something there. Maybe, if I dig deep enough…

No. Stop.

I have to stop.

"I can't, Jason," I finally say, pushing away from his warmth. "You're so wrong for me it's not even funny. And I'm even more wrong for you." He starts to speak, but I put a hand over his lips. "Please don't," I beg. "Please just let it be this. Let it be just a few beautiful kisses brought on by ridiculous circumstances. It won't ever be more."

I slip his jacket off and give it back to him. "I need to go home," I inform him quietly.

It takes everything I have to turn around and walk away. I know it's the right thing to do, even though I want to stay so badly.

But if I do, I'll just end up getting hurt.

And I can't bear it.


	3. Chapter Three

**Warnings: Burn injury. Foreplay. Language. Mention of mugging.**

* * *

I'm anxious the instant I enter the shop the next day. I keep picking at the scarf I was forced to wear because of the marks Jason left on my neck last night. In hindsight, I really should have stopped him before he'd done that. Oh well. Too late now.

Will he show up again? Maybe he'll find a different place to get coffee. The city has plenty of choices.

If he does come, I wonder how he'll act. How will I act, for that matter? I'm worried that he'll break through the chinks in my armor if he tries.

I'm also worried that he won't try at all.

Several hours pass and I don't see Jason. You'd think that would calm me down, but instead, I'm just more nervous.

I've got my back turned to the counter when I hear someone rap their knuckles against it. I take a deep breath and prepare to turn around when a familiar voice snaps, "Quad espresso with one pump of cinnamon syrup, sweetheart. And don't forget that it's just one pump, all right?"

Fuck.

Part of me is grateful that he's made me angry. It will make him easier to resist.

"I'm waiting here, sweetheart." I grit my teeth, carefully arranging my face in a big false smile before I turn around.

"Coming right up, Mr. Crouse," I say cheerfully, starting to make his coffee. He doesn't acknowledge me, but he still manages to completely distract me when he pulls a pair of glasses from his pocket and puts them on. They have thick black rims, and he makes sure they rest delicately on the end of his nose as he squints down at his phone.

Fuck me standing. I didn't think it was possible for him to get sexier, but I was dead wrong.

I've stopped paying attention to what I'm doing because I'm staring at him. His gaze finally flicks to me when I scream and drop the metal foamer I'm holding because my negligence has caused me to burn myself. "Fuck!" I hiss. Luckily the noise is soft enough so that only he can hear me. I dart over to the nearby sink and start running cold water over my hand, but I can already tell that I need to go to the ER.

A bunch of customers come through the door. I'm alone; my co-worker won't be back from his break for a few minutes and I have to take care of things. I pull my hand out of the sink; I can barely move it, but it will have to do.

Jason is frowning at me over his glasses when I turn back to the coffee machine. I try to will my hand to stop shaking, wiping the tears of shock and pain off my face with my good hand before starting his order over. His frown deepens.

"You can't work like that," he protests. "You need to go to the hospital."

"I'll be fine," I grind out. "And in case you haven't noticed, Mr. Crouse, I'm the only one here at the moment who knows how to do everything."

He laughs. "Well, it can't be that hard." I stare at him incredulously as he sits on the counter, swinging his long legs around so he can join me behind it. "Let me."

I open my mouth to protest, and then think better of it. He wants to talk a big game? He thinks that anyone can do my job?

Fine. Let him prove it.

I wrap a wet towel around my hand and lean back against the sink to watch Jason work. The first customer orders just a regular coffee, so he does fine on that one.

Then the next customer steps up to the counter, snapping her gum obnoxiously, and rattles off an order that's my worst nightmare. "I want, like, an iced half-caff venti ristretto cinnamon dolce soy skinny latte with four pumps." I cover my mouth with my hand so she can't hear me snort. It's a ridiculous order. Ristretto espresso is made with half of the water of a normal espresso, but adding all of those extras just makes the whole thing a useless pain in the ass.

He doesn't even know what she said, but goddamn if he doesn't try. I start to laugh uncontrollably as his brow furrows and he starts frowning at everything in sight. It only takes about thirty seconds for the girl to get upset. "Um, like, what are you doing? Is it your first day or something? I mean, a monkey could do this stupid job." She starts giggling with all of her friends and I watch as the set of Jason's shoulders changes.

Suddenly, I feel awful. Sure, I wanted to see him get taken down a peg, but I think his feelings are actually hurt. A pang of compassion blooms in my chest as I take pity on him. I unwrap my hand and come up next to him, touching his arm. "Let me," I say quietly. For a moment, he looks like he wants to object, but the giggling continues and he finally steps back.

I manage the order. As I set the girl's unnecessarily complicated drink in front of her, she sneers, "About time."

I give her a dazzling smile and icily reply, "He's a customer who was kindly trying to help me because I hurt myself. You could learn something from him."

She stares at me blankly as I take the rest of her friends' orders, but she doesn't respond. By the time I get them rung up, my co-worker is back. I explain what happened and he's sympathetic; he tells me to leave even though my replacement isn't in for an hour. I head to the back to get the jacket I actually remembered to bring today. When I return, Jason is leaning against the wall waiting for me.

"What are you doing?" I sigh. I really don't have the strength to deal with this right now.

"I'm driving you to the ER," he says matter-of-factly. "You walked home last night, so I assume that means you don't have a car."

I blink at him. "I can't afford one," I reveal. My hand is red and throbbing. Accepting the ride would be the smart thing to do. I'd get there faster.

"Well, I have one, so come on. You need to get that looked at." He reaches out and puts his arm around my shoulders to guide me to the door.

"Okay," I murmur, leaning against him. He looks down at me, clearly surprised that I've stopped resisting. "It hurts," I explain quietly. He lets his lips graze my forehead as he takes me out the door.

His car is parked at the curb. I stare at it as he opens the door for me. "You have a Porsche? You know my ass isn't even worthy to sit in this car, right?"

"Stop being sarcastic and get in," he says seriously. "I'm worried about your hand." He looks so earnest that I obey immediately and slide into the car. I slip my jacket on as he comes around to the driver's side.

While he gets the car started, I glance sideways at him. "I didn't know you wore glasses," I observe. He chuckles.

"That's because I try not to wear them," he points out. "I'm stubborn like that."

"You? Stubborn? I never would have guessed," I tease. He grimaces.

"As you saw." He pauses before pulling out into traffic. "I really stuck both feet in my mouth back there, huh?" He looks at me sheepishly and I smile.

"I told you…" I can't resist saying. He rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, quit nagging." He smiles at me and starts to drive. After a moment, he adds, "Thanks for defending me back there. You didn't have to, especially after I treated you like shit."

I shrug nonchalantly. "What she said wasn't fair. And that was one of the most complicated orders she could have chosen. It was completely asinine. It wasn't your fault."

Jason doesn't say anything. He reaches over and takes my hand, pulling it up to his lips and holding it there. I stay quiet, suddenly feeling like it's not appropriate to say anything. I lean back against the seat, turning my head so I can look at him as he drives.

We have to wait a while at the ER, which isn't surprising. I actually fall asleep against Jason for a bit; when I wake up, he's stroking my face and hair and looking at me thoughtfully.

The doctor tells me I have a second-degree burn. He puts cream on it, wraps it, and gives me a prescription. Jason drags me to the pharmacy to make sure I get it filled before we leave.

We don't say anything to each other the entire time.

Once we're back in the car, he just starts driving, so I finally speak up. "You haven't asked where I live," I mention.

"That's because I'm taking you to where I live," Jason answers easily. I blanch.

Where he lives? I can't do that. Be in his… apartment? House? Wherever? Even I don't have that much willpower.

"That's not necessary, Jason," I stammer. "And besides, I have to work tomorrow, so I need to…"

"You're not going to work hurt," Jason protests, turning into an apartment complex in an area of the city that I am certainly not wealthy enough to step foot in.

Now that my hand doesn't hurt as much, I have the presence of mind to resist him. "Jason, you don't get to tell me what to do. I hardly know you. And I get paid hourly, by the way. I barely have benefits, and I don't get sick days or vacation days. I can't afford to not go to work."

Jason parks the car and frowns. "You need to heal. How much do you make a day? I can pay you for the days you miss."

"Are you kidding me? Jason, that's not… I can't…" I sputter for a moment and then finally find the words I want. "Jason, that doesn't make any sense. Why would you do that?" He gets out, coming around to my side of the car and bending over to kiss my nose. I stare up at him dumbly, waiting for his answer.

"Because I've decided that I like you," he informs me. "And we may be… wrong for each other," he repeats my words from last night, "but I don't care. I want more than a few beautiful kisses brought on by ridiculous circumstances. So get your sexy ass out of my car and into my apartment."

I gaze around Jason's apartment in confusion. Everything is glass and chrome and marble. "Was this place decorated by RoboCop?" I ask, arching my eyebrow at him.

He snorts. "What? I thought it was nice. Isn't it?" He looks uncertain as he glances around.

"This is going to sound strange considering that I just chastised you for not knowing me very well, but… it just doesn't seem like you at all." He bites his lower lip and looks at me.

"Really?"

I nod. "Really."

"What seems like me?" he asks curiously. He turns so he can unbutton my jacket and slip it off, throwing it over the chrome arm of his black leather couch. He lifts my purse, which is slung across my chest, over my head next. "Why do you wear your purse under your jacket?" he muses, taking his suit jacket off and tossing it over my things.

"So it's harder to get mugged when I walk home," I shrug. He frowns.

"Have you been mugged?" he wonders, his brow furrowing in concern.

"Not really. A guy tried to grab my purse once, but he couldn't get it off of me. I kicked him in the shin and he cried and ran away." Jason starts to laugh, running his hand over his beard as he loosens his tie.

"Really?" He steps closer, pulling his glasses down his nose as he looks down at me. I stare up at him. In the right light, his hazel eyes have a golden sheen. I blink rapidly. Is there a way to become immune to handsomeness?

"What?" I swallow, trying to make my voice light. "Just because I burned my hand on a coffee machine doesn't mean I can't be a badass." He looks amused, and I quickly shuffle my thoughts, returning to his earlier question.

"You just seem more rugged than modern, to be honest," I reveal. "When I think about you, I picture lots of wood and soft colors. Grays, dark greens, browns. And books," I muse. "Shelves and shelves of books."

"Why?"

I shrug. "I don't know. It's just what I see. You don't seem made for all of… this." I gesture at everything around us. "You just don't seem to fit the life you have, Jason."

He contemplates that for a moment and then raises his eyebrow. "You think about me?" He sounds… excited. He puts his hands in his pockets, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a pleased grin.

"More than I should," I whisper, feeling my cheeks get hot. I bite my tongue so I don't tell him that he's irresistible and mysterious.

He lifts his hands and swallows carefully, reaching behind my head and untwisting my hair until it falls in loose waves to my chin. He's looking at me like I'm some kind of enlightening oracle. He runs his fingers through my hair slowly. When he speaks again, his voice is low and husky. "I've been meaning to ask you," he rumbles, "what made you burn your hand?"

I gaze up at him and slowly shake my head. There's no way I'm telling him that.

"Just careless, I guess," I breathe as his hands slide down to my neck to undo my scarf.

"You don't usually wear a scarf," he comments, then smiles slyly as he exposes my skin. His fingertips ghost over the purple spots he left behind yesterday.

"You kind of forced my hand on that one," I admit.

He nods, looking proud of himself. "You're not careless," he states. "Tell me the truth." As he says it, he reaches up and slides his glasses off the rest of the way, putting one of the temples in his mouth and sucking on it lightly.

Fuck. He noticed.

Any words I have left die in my throat as he smiles, turning the glasses around in his hands and sliding them onto my face gently. I bite my lip and he tilts my chin up with his thumb before gently dragging it down over my throat. "I'm sorry I made you burn yourself," he apologizes. "I suppose I can see why it happened." He runs a finger over the rim of the glasses and cups my cheek in his big, warm hand. "Glasses really do make a person sexier."

Before I can think of anything clever to say, he kisses me. Softly. Slowly. His lips feel familiar to me now, and that's dangerous.

But I'm ready to live dangerously.

I lean up into Jason's kiss, making it deeper. He gasps against my mouth and glides his hands over my shoulders and then my sides. When his fingers slip under my fitted t-shirt, my skin prickles. "What are you doing?" I pant. He chuckles as he nudges the fabric up to the base of my bra.

"You don't want to stay in your work clothes, do you? I'll give you a shirt you can sleep in." His mouth never leaves mine as he speaks, and when he's done, his tongue traces my lips.

I laugh. "Well, I've never slept in a $4,000 shirt," I joke. Jason smirks.

"The shirts don't cost $4,000, Robin," he assures me, leaning back just long enough to tug mine over my head. His glasses go crooked on my nose, and I reflexively move my hands to straighten them, but he stops me.

"Leave them like that," he requests. When he lets my hands go, I start to unbutton his shirt, pulling it out of his pants and then running my hands up his torso before I twine them back around his neck. He undoes my pants and pushes them down my thighs, then he surprises me by lifting me so I can kick them off the rest of the way. He doesn't set me back down, pulling me closer, and when the bare skin of my belly meets his, a shiver runs up my spine.

"You don't have to wear anything, you know," he says. "My damn fancy sheets feel really nice, I promise."

"Do they really?" I whisper as he slides his palm up my spine so he can deftly undo my bra with one hand. There's no hiding how aroused I am when he tugs on the bra and my hard nipples rub against the hair on his chest. He actually moans, bouncing me up further in his arms and walking me to his bedroom. When he lays me on his damn fancy sheets, I gasp. They're unbelievably soft.

So is his beard as he crawls on top of me and begins kissing his way down my neck to my chest. I can feel how hard he is through his dress pants, and my legs fall open automatically as he grinds against me.

Jason circles his nose around my nipple and I whimper. He smiles against my skin and nips at the taut peak playfully before slowly kissing his way back up to my mouth.

I tangle my good hand in his hair, massaging his scalp as his mouth hovers over mine. "I promise to make you feel good," he murmurs. I can hear the seriousness in his voice.

"All right," I breathe, my hips twitching up as he lowers himself down to kiss me yet again.


	4. Chapter Four

**Warnings: Foreplay. Language. Mild footplay. Vaginal fingering.**

* * *

Jason's belt buckle touches my skin and I jump because of how cold it is.

The shock brings me back to reality. Last night, I walked away from Jason Crouse. Now I'm practically naked underneath him on his bed.

I want him. I really do. I'd be an idiot not to. He's incredibly handsome and wonderfully built. I love the way his body hair and his beard feel against my skin, and he smells so good that it should be a crime. I can tell by the way he touches me that he'd be amazing in bed, and I'm sorely tempted to let him help me just forget about my life for a little while.

Not to mention that as he grinds against me harder, I can feel how long and thick he is. Call me shallow, but the only thing better than an incredibly handsome man who's good in bed is an incredibly handsome man who's good in bed and has a big dick.

I'm trying to muster up the courage to tell him to stop when his doorbell rings. He stills and sighs, leaning his forehead against mine for a moment. "Work messenger," he tells me. "I have to get it." I nod carefully as he plucks his glasses off of my face and walks out into the living room.

By the time he returns, I'm sitting up against the headboard, the sheets wrapped modestly around my body. He perches on the edge of the bed and bites his lip. "That much of a buzzkill, huh?"

"It wasn't the door," I say quietly.

Jason sighs and pulls his glasses off. "Back to that, are we?"

"Don't start being an ass again," I snap. "It's not flattering." I push my good hand through my hair as I try to sort out my thoughts. "This was always a bad idea," I remind him. "I told you not to bring me here." I slip out of the bed and pad out to the living room to find the rest of my clothes. Jason follows me.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asks. "You're hurt."

"It's just my hand, Jason. I'm a big girl; I can take care of myself." I bend over to grab my pants and he puts his arms at my waist to haul me back up and spin me around. "Dammit, Jason!" I yell. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm trying to get you to stay and take care of yourself!" he fires back, clearly annoyed. "What the fuck is wrong with that?! What's your problem?! You said you wanted someone to give a shit about you, Robin. Well, here I am, giving a shit! So do you want me to or not?!"

"What I don't understand, Jason, is why you give a shit!" I retort. "You have come in for coffee every day since I started working at the shop, and you never noticed me until three days ago. Why are you suddenly so interested? This isn't a fucking romantic comedy where two completely opposite people meet and live happily ever after or some bullshit! I'm not going to deny that you're attractive, and I'm not going to deny that kissing you is one of the best damn things I've ever felt, but those two things really aren't significant when you stack them up against everything else. So if you really want me to stay instead of walking out that door, fucking tell me what is so goddamn amazing about me that you just can't let me go!"

He stares at me; his eyes are blazing with anger, but I can see the pain behind them. For a split second, I'm moved, but it doesn't mean much if he won't tell me anything. I sneer at him and yank my arms free. "Fine, then. I'm leaving."

I'm gathering my clothes from the floor when he finally speaks. "You're the only person who's told me the truth in a long, long time," he admits. His voice is quiet and vulnerable; I've never heard him sound like that before. I turn on my heel, my clothes dropping from my hands. All my wrath has dissipated.

"What?" is all I can manage to squeeze out. He pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, pushing his glasses up onto his forehead, and then looks at me plaintively.

"You told me the truth," he repeats. "I was being an asshole, and you told me so. Robin, I'm always an asshole, but no one ever calls me on it. Everyone just lets it slide because of my job, or my money, or some other stupid damn thing that doesn't matter. I told you not to apologize for telling the truth because people don't understand what the truth is worth. I like the truth, Robin. It's why I became a lawyer in the first place. But now it's just a cesspool of lies, and I can't find the shore. That's why I kissed you that first night. I wanted to…" He pauses and grimaces. "I wanted to taste the truth on your lips."

My mouth actually drops open.

That's the most beautiful fucking thing anyone has ever said to me, and I'm honestly not sure what to do about it.

When I don't reply, Jason continues. He comes over to me, cupping my elbows in his hands and pulling me close. "I wanted to get to know you better. But I've already screwed it up, haven't I? I made that comment about being average and ruined everything. Because it turns out you're not average at all. You're… simple, and I don't mean that in a bad way. You're beautifully, wonderfully simple, Robin. Your favorite color is yellow, and when you go home, you like to read books late into the evening, and the only thing you crave is a fireplace to do it in front of. We didn't even talk that long, and I learned so much about you, because it was all easy. I know that you think I have it all with the job and the suits and the car and the RoboCop apartment…" I smile and laugh at that comment; he gives me a sad smile back. "Lately, all I've wanted is something simple, honest, and easy," he finishes. "But I'm not good at relationships. I'm good at sex and not calling again. I'm a jerk."

This time, I know exactly what to say. "All those things you just said tell me that you're not a jerk, Jason. At least not all the time. And you haven't ruined everything."

"I haven't?"

I shake my head. "No. All I wanted was the truth."

He shifts uncomfortably. "Well, the truth is that I don't know what to do now."

"Luckily for you," I say lightly, reaching up to start undoing his tie, "I have it all figured out." He waits patiently as I slip his shirt and belt off as well; when I'm done, I put my arms around his neck and lean up to kiss him.

This time, I do the leading. I spread my hand out over his cheek and neck the same way he did to me, my fingers stroking the soft hair of his beard as I take his lower lip between my teeth. He picks me up again, carrying me to the bedroom, but I pull my lips from his before we get to the bed and gently whisper, "No, Jason."

He opens his eyes and looks at me with a mixture of disappointment and curiosity. I run my good hand through his hair, savoring the warmth of his skin against mine. "If you want something real, Jason, something honest, then resist me. I'll stay here until my hand is better, just like you want, but I'm not going to have sex with you. We can talk, we can cuddle, we can kiss, but no sex. Prove to me that you want me, and not just my body."

His eyes flash as he gazes back at me. "You don't want me?" he questions carefully, confused.

I laugh. "I do want you, Jason. Very badly, in fact. That will make it that much harder for you to resist."

He groans and sits me on the bed, leaning over and kissing me even more hungrily than before. I brace my hands on his chest, running my fingers through the dark curls of hair there. He feels so good; I'm going to have to frequently remind myself of my own rules.

Finally, he pulls back. "So what do we do instead?" he asks uncertainly.

I lean up, rubbing my nose against his. "I bet you have a giant bathtub in this place, huh?" I tease. Jason laughs and nods.

"Fuck yeah I do." He waggles his eyebrows at me playfully and I giggle.

"Then I want to take a nice, relaxing bath with you," I inform him, holding up one finger. "No funny business."

"No funny business," he repeats very seriously before kissing my forehead and going into the bathroom.

A short time later, we're lying at opposite ends of the tub. Jason has my feet on his chest, and he's rubbing them gently. The bubble bath he used smells like orange, frankincense, and lavender. I'm keeping my wrapped hand out of the water for the moment, but otherwise, I'm perfectly content. "Now this I could get used to," I purr. Jason chuckles.

"It's nicer with you in it," he admits, pressing light kisses to my feet. I giggle and Jason smiles at me slyly; he's discovered that I'm ticklish and I know I'm never going to hear the end of it. He keeps kissing my feet teasingly, flicking his tongue against my toes.

"Are you trying to break me, Mr. Crouse?" I arch an eyebrow and he gestures to himself with one hand.

"Me? No, ma'am, not at all. I'm a perfect innocent angel." He grins and rubs his beard against my feet; I shiver and bite my lip.

"Oh, right. I forgot," I say mischievously; he runs his fingers up and down my calves. "Do I get to play with your feet too?" I ask, reaching under the water and dragging my fingertips over the sole of his foot. He bites his lip and shakes his head slowly.

"Nope. You gotta keep that injured paw out of the water."

"I still have one good hand," I tease. "Don't you know that's all it takes?"

"You are so bad," he accuses me playfully. I use my wrapped hand to draw a halo in the air over my head and he smirks.

"You're different like this," I observe. "You're… sweet and funny and relaxed. Not like you are in the coffee shop at all."

"Well, like you said, the quad espressos might have something to do with that." I laugh, but don't say anything else. Jason looks at me curiously. "You like me better like this?" he wonders. I shrug nonchalantly.

"Well, you're certainly more pleasant to be around when you're like this, Jason," I note, pausing. "But I also don't think you should force yourself to be something you don't want to be just to please everyone else."

"You mean to please you?" His eyes are dark as he slips my feet back under the warm water and sits up.

I sit up along with him. "I mean anyone," I answer firmly. "You shouldn't have to change yourself so people will like you. It's not fair." He nods, pulling me forward until I'm straddling his lap. I put my arms around his neck and raise my eyebrow.

"You said we could kiss," he reminds me. He brings my head down to his and begins to claim my mouth. I slide my good hand into his hair and gasp as I feel his erection press against my thigh.

"I did," I confirm breathily, "but this is dangerously close to something else, Jason." He brushes my open mouth with his again, kissing me audibly. I sink against him, my breasts settled comfortably against his chest, my belly resting against his. Jason starts to kiss my jaw and neck, and my breathing becomes heavy. "Jason…" I warn him.

"Shh, shh," he soothes me. "You never said what I could kiss."

"Semantics," I pant. His cock twitches against me as he kisses his way over my collarbone.

"I'm a lawyer, Robin. My whole life is semantics. Would you like to argue about the definition of sex? Your ultimatum was… vague at best." His tongue laves over the hollow of my throat and then he kisses his way back up my neck to my lips.

"My ultimatum, my definitions," I clarify, the last few letters lost in a loud groan as he pushes down on the small of my back, shifting so that his throbbing shaft is pressed right against my clit. "Jason!"

"Just let me make you come," he begs.

"That counts as sex," I protest, but I know that if he keeps moving like this, the definition won't matter in a minute. I try to hold still, but he's rocking me back and forth against him.

"No, it doesn't," Jason says firmly. "You're going to finish, not me. The only satisfaction I will receive is hearing you say my name when you do."

"That sounds like circumventing the rules!" I gasp. I'm going to finish now no matter what happens.

"But not breaking them."

He holds me tightly as I unravel. I grasp onto him desperately, pressing my forehead against his and saying his name like a litany. Just when I think I'm about to finish entirely, he pushes me further by stroking between my legs with his long, dexterous fingers. My back arches as I grind down against him, shaking violently. "Jason! Fuck, Jason, Jason, Jason!" I finally collapse on him, burying my face in his neck, cupping his cheek in my hand and tipping my head up to kiss his jaw. His chest is heaving, but he clearly has more self-control than I do.

"Are you all right, Robin?" he sighs, his fingers caressing up and down my spine.

For a moment, I think about not telling him the truth, but then I remember what he said about honesty. "That was the best orgasm I've ever had, and we barely did anything at all," I murmur.

He chuckles. "Happy to be of service," he rumbles, his voice deep, his breathing labored. "Regretting your ultimatum yet?"

I laugh. "Exceedingly, but I'm not going to retract it. This already came very close to contravention."

"Exercising that willpower, huh?" I nod, though I do feel a little bad that he's not getting any relief. "Can I ask why it's so important?" He tilts his head so he can look down at me. "Do you really think that if I get your body, I won't be interested after that?"

"That's not what it's about," I answer slowly. "Based on what you've told me, Jason, you use sex as a distraction. You avoid creating real relationships and talking by having what is clearly incredibly fantastic sex." I sit up and put my hands on his chest; he puts his over mine. "I want to talk to you, Jason. Get to know you. And I want you to know me. That… isn't something I've wanted, well… ever. So we can cuddle in your bed, we can eat pizza, we can do whatever we want, as long as it's not sex. And no more skirting the rules, as much as I enjoyed it."

He nods. "Okay. And when your hand is better?" He plays with my damp bandage.

I laugh. "Then we can renegotiate, all right? Big shot lawyer," I grumble mockingly.

He moves his hands to my face, tracing my lower lip with his thumb. "Kiss me again?" he requests. I twine my arms around his neck and oblige him.

I never knew that kissing could be so erotic. Every nerve in my body craves him as his mouth moves slowly against mine.

But I'm serious about my ultimatum.

I will resist having sex with Jason Crouse, no matter how long I'm here.


End file.
